Wherever Wind Blows
by Sawadoot
Summary: To grant a wish is to take something in return.


_I sing myself a quiet lullaby_

 _Can the lonely take the place of you?_

* * *

Perhaps it had all come to a close, he knows there is a spirit that resides here. It is a quiet one. Ever so timid, it hardly disturbs him but he can feel it, it can be felt in the air around.

He can feel it in the empty ballroom of mansion. In the old gazebo of the gardens.

And especially, in the abandoned room of the previous tenth.

He wonders if they're connected, yes, even with his doubts he's practically sure beyond all he's ever been certain of. It's his ghost.

There can be no other.

It sings at night. And despite the many people who live here,

only he can hear him.

Hayato is almost certain it's a him because although the pitch is high there's some part that he just knows wouldn't be any of the previous ladies. He'd never met the boy. He heard he'd died at fourteen due to an ambush and bled out on the floor of that very ballroom.

Reborn never spoke of it however, so he never asked.

He hears footsteps sometimes, in the dead of night. No one else hears them not even the strongest. The room is empty and yet he can hear rhythm in those footsteps. As if he is dancing slowly, alone.

Is it alright to leave it? He wonders himself as sometimes he awakes to hear the rustling of curtains, his cat yowls. Hayato stiffens as Uri puffs up. And yet his own cat suddenly relaxes as if comforted by whatever it is.

He wants to talk to the spirit. But what medium could he use? Hayato will never touch an ouija board, even he knows there are no kind spirits through that sort of contact.

But it eats at him, with each night he hears the slow dancing in that empty ballroom.

So one night while he sits at his chair he thinks of his name, the name that he learned the years prior when he came here to reside. He's known it well, for he was to be the direct subordinate, a guardian, of this boy.

The name of Sawada Tsunayoshi.

And in horror he watches as, before his very eyes, a young boy materializes. He's transparent and yet so very striking. His eyes are large and deep, seemingly too kind for one killed so cruelly. Lips parted slightly in what seemed like a deep breath, his hair was of the peculiar sort. Soft spikes, they hardly rustled.

He realized what he had done and so he yells, falling from his reading chair with a loud crash. In rushes several patrolling mafiaso but the boy is not there, they pass it as a trick of the mind.

Reborn does not.

"Tell me. What things do you hear?" The mafiaso sits across from him the next morning, an espresso in his hand and a troubled look.

Hayato is still unnerved. He does his best to explain the footsteps, the small songs he hears in the dead of night or wee hours.

"Ah…" Reborn truly looks saddened for a moment, Hayato has never seen him so much as regret anything meanger. "Yes, Sawada was especially fond of dancing. He danced with his mother often."

Hayato tries to process this information, was Reborn fond of the boy? He knows the hitman was his tutor.

"He dances in the old ballroom, a-and last night…. I thought of him. And I saw him, Reborn! I truly did!"

Reborn slides him a photograph of Tsunayoshi, he's smiling more at the person behind the camera rather than the camera itself. Hayato confirms that to be him.

The hitman has no words and instead rises from his seat. "There is nothing that can be done."

But Hayato wants to know more. So that night again, he thinks his name and as the previous he appears. Seeming somewhat shocked.

He opens his hand, palm forward. He wants Hayato to take his hand, dare he?

When their hands reach hesitantly, they touch, a spark shoots up his spine and they let go. Sawada looking with mild fear at his own hand.

"You can see me?" He asks with uncertainty.

Hayato nods in amazement. His voice, it sounds like summer chimes. A melodious sound he's never heard. How interesting.

"You know who I am?" Tsunayoshi once again asks as if about to cry.

"Yes." Hayato finally finds his voice.

And the ghost, he begins to cry. There is burden in the way he cries, alone all this time. And now someone can see him, feel him, hear him. He can make contact.

"Who are you? I don't remember ever seeing you in my days of life."

What should he tell him? "I came here a while after...that."

The ghost boy seems to be in thought. It does add up, and he wonders. Why now of all these times? Why now is this man able to see him?

"What is your name?"

He watches the man glance at him warily. "Gokudera Hayato."

Tsuna reels backwards almost instantly. He remembers the name from when he was still of flesh. This man who stands before him, he was to be a comrade.

"Oh." Is all he can say for what is he to say. He was dead even before they'd ever met.

"What is it I can do to put you at rest?" Hayato knows he should instead be contacting Reborn. But entranced is he at the delicate ghost before him.

"One dance."

His heart nearly stops.

"I just want one more dance."

Hayato takes the chance. He nods, standing from his reading chair and unafraid of the darkness, merges into it with the spirit.

He misses the tiny smile.

It is quite easy to creep past the on guard mafiaso scattered amongst the mansion. They stand in the dark ballroom, save the little light that filters in through the great glass panels of the windows larger than Hayato remembers.

They join hands, hand on waist, it is surprisingly realistic if not for the chill that reminds Hayato this boy is long dead. His heart no longer beats.

A slow pace to which they begin to dance fluidly. Smooth motions between the two as the music becomes faster, faster. Spinning endlessly in a spiral of steps.

He steps to the left and the ghost boy follows the suit as they continue their dance. Faster. The tempo only continues to rise making Hayato dizzy, confused.

But he smiles even so.

A whirlwind of gestures now and they seem to be sucked into the night.

Merging, Hayato feels no pain nor despair as he melts into the other in the paleness of the light provided.

Faster.

It stops.

The music has ceased, the dance has come to an end. No one stands on the empty ballroom floor as the dawn breaks, allowing rays of light to cast themselves on the floor. Without a trace.

The next evening at a minute to midnight, two sets of footsteps fall on deaf ears.

Every night they complete their final dance.

And Hayato has learned to live without a heartbeat.


End file.
